Desert Descant
by Pihorist
Summary: [AU YAOI] Malik literally goes "through the looking glass" after he finds a strange mirror in an attic. Lost and alone in a new world, he is taken captive by two theives...BakuraMalikMarik, many more!
1. estudiar

_Standard disclaimers apply._

**+Desert Descant+**

_"The sea creeps to pillage,_

_She leaps on her prey;_

_A child of the village,_

_Was murdered today."_

**+Sea Lullaby, **Elinor Wylie

Malik ran a hand through his pale blond hair. He knew he was sweating, which he found positively disgusting. But lifting boxes and moving furniture for three hours would do that to oneself.

Life was a downhill slope. When he was 10, his father had begun to abuse him viciously. The abuse continued until the age of 15, when his father died in a drunk driving accident. Isis, who had already moved out of the house, took him to live with her. He lived happily for two years, thinking that life was finally going uphill for him, until his sister Isis was found dead in an alleyway. He got not one penny from her; all of her money had gone to a greedy man she was engaged to.

He didn't even want to think about Rishid. Just the name made his head pound and his blood boil. Rishid had known about the abuse, and he had done nothing to stop it. He moved out after getting engaged to some whore, and then proceeded to forget completely about him. The last he had heard about him was that he was living comfortably in the country, newlywed. Malik hadn't even received an invitation to their wedding. In fact, he hadn't even showed up at Isis' funeral.

Now, at seventeen, he was working ten hours a day trying to pay off his bills and the funeral costs. He had long since dropped out of high school, unable to work enough hours while in school to support himself.

A sudden, rough push to the side brought Malik out of his thoughts. He regained his balance and glared at his muscular coworker. Most of his coworkers were literal mountains of muscles, completely opposite to Malik, who was dangerously thin.

After finally coming back to reality, the blond-haired boy noticed that there was nothing left to move. A rough shout from the depths of the house—possibly the attic—signaled that someone else needed help. He made his way up the rickety stairs and into the adjacent hallway. In the hallway, there was a small ladder leading up to the attic.

"Malik!" There came a voice from the attic, somewhat distance. Carefully, Malik made his way up the ladder. The voice called again—just as distant—but when Malik finally poked his head into the attic no one was there.

"Huh," He said. "That's odd…"

He brought the rest of himself into the attic, looking around. The same person called his name again, and it seemed to be coming from a part of the attic that was blocked off by a wall of boxes and huge shelving units. He moved into the enclosed space, looking around again. There was some shuffling, but other than that, no one seemed to be here either.

'Okay…' Malik thought, getting a bit creeped out. He looked around him; everywhere, there laid papers. Even under his feet as he went into the area further, crunching together. Some of the paper was rather old. In the corner, there lay a tall mirror, with cracked gold trimming. He bent down, picking up a random piece of paper.

There was some strange eye on the paper. Notes seemed to be written on the page, but they were in some foreign writing. He sucked in a breath as he finally realized what the eye was. "Eye of Horus!" He murmured.

Then, there, a loud rustling and two crunches. Suddenly he was shoved up against the wall, and a hand slapped something sticky covered his mouth.. The other hand grabbed his wrists and pinned them above his head. He found that even when the mystery person removed his hand, he could not move his lips.

His vision came back into focus just in time to see the face of one of his coworkers bend down to look at him. The hand that previously silenced him snaked up his shirt and began caressing skin.

"Let go!" He attempted to scream, but it came out as a muffled cry. He recognized the man that loomed over him as one of the older, and more drunk, members of the moving crew. As the hand began to move over his chest under the thin fabric of his lavender belly shirt, he mustered all his strength and began to kick at his captor. The person above him laughed.

The captive boy suddenly let out another cry as the hand moved to cruelly pinch at one of his nipples. The hand slid down to the hem of his khakis.

'Oh my god,' he thought, panicked. 'This isn't happening. This can't be happening. I-I…' and his thoughts trailed off into an incoherent, garbled mess. Malik began to tremble fiercely as the button of his khakis was undone. He actually felt a tear slide down his cheek.

A gust of anger ran through his mind, suddenly. He couldn't remember the last time he had cried—not even at Isis' funeral. Now, some piece of filth was making shed a tear like…like some kind of baby. Gathering what little scraps of energy he had left, he kneed the man in his groin.

The man fell to the ground with nothing more than a choked scream. His head fell back as he lay unconscious due to the sheer amount of pain that overloaded his system. The blonde spat on his face.

Now, Malik himself had known he was a beautiful individual. In fact, his beauty had gotten himself in trouble many a time. Nothing as serious as this, though—only a persistent woman or—on occasion—man. Still, Malik couldn't figure out what was so alluring about the combination of blond hair and dark honey skin. Perhaps it was because of his eyes—he had yet to meet someone with the same type of eyes as his light violet ones. That made him proud, to a degree.

He heard the man groan, and he knew that he had to get out of there before the man awoke in a blind rage. The struggle had brought him closer to that old mirror propped into the corner. As he turned sharply on his heel, the papers under him shifted unnaturally. It caused him to spin around, so he was now facing the mirror, before falling backwards. His foot hit the mirror.

There was a dull thud when he hit the floor, but there was no thud when his foot met the mirror. There was a strange, icy sensation, but no hurt. He dared to look down—and—and…

He barely repressed a scream. His foot was no longer there, the cream colored material of his pants cutting off where the mirror began. Trying to get a grip on his emotions, he wiggled his foot. The surface of the mirror rippled as if someone had thrown a stone into a pond. Now more curious than terrified, he pulled out his foot, got up, and walked over to the mirror.

It began with small touches, seeing how big he could make the ripples, then sticking whole limbs into the mirror. Finally, he decided that he could take a chance and stick his head in.

"How weird," Malik whispered, sticking his head through the mirror. On the other side, there was only sky surrounding him. He looked down and gulped. What looked to be miles down were land masses of cream. He leaned in father, the tops of his shoulders appearing through the other side. This was his undoing.

The papers shifted again, and he lost his balance, falling forward. He tumbled into the air, "landing" on his back. He could only watch as the mirror seemed to merge with the sky and became invisible. A few papers fluttered in along with him.

Strangely, though, it didn't look or feel as if he was falling at a fast rate. The pace at which he fell was almost lazy, like a feather.

He let out a sigh of relief. Crossing his arms behind his head, he decided to let fate take control of the helm. Wherever he was falling too, it would surely be a better place than his home.

**+AN+**

Written to: Final Fantasy X Vocal Collection – All The Way

This is my first fic in a while. I guess this chapter came out okay, but I thought it was kind of monotonous. The whole point of this chapter was, basically, to explain Malik's back story and get him to fall through the mirror. I apologize for my bad writing (I'm really not that good), and any errors I might have overlooked. This is my first ever attempt at writing Malik, and I'm very concerned about keeping him in character.

This was really done on a whim. I'm not sure where this is going, or how regular updates will be, so bear with me. I'm not even sure about the plot or the pairings. Sigh I'm such an irresponsible writer (If I can even be given the honor of being called a "writer").

Got any tips? Any suggestions for future revisions? Requests? Anything important you think I missed? Review or email me at Rukkashin hotmail . com(remove spaces).

Many a thanks to Em-chan, for your betareading and encouragement.


	2. mirar

_Standard Disclaimers Apply._

**+Desert Descant+**

"A treacherous smiler

With teeth white as milk,

A savage beguiler,

In sheathings of silk…"

**+Sea Lullaby**Elinor Wylie

Soft, rough, shifting; the first three sensations that Malik registered.

He opened an eye; almost giddily he realized that there was only a starry night sky starring back at him. He had never seen so many stars in the sky before. It seemed as if the night was unnaturally bright—not even the stars, as many as there were, could produce such light.

Finally, he took time to take in his surroundings. All around him, sand. Great hills of sand, valleys where the sand dipped inward, plains where the sand thinned out. Some grass stood out on the plains of sand, but it was in small tufts and most seemed to be withering.

When a sudden gust of wind from behind him blew sand into his hair, he frowned, coming out of his dream-like state. The blonde suddenly noticed that lying here in the sand had gotten nothing done—except, perhaps, for dirtying his hair and clothes. He stood up quickly, patting the sand out of his belly shirt and his khakis.

It wasn't cold, the teen realized. It was night, and he was in a desert—logic told him that it was supposed to be frigid. Instead, it was a pleasant warm, with gusts of slightly cold wind serving to jolt him awake even more than he already was. He turned towards the horizon, hoping to find something to guide him, like a brightly shining star.

He gasped.

_'So this is why it's so bright!' _Malik thought, staring in awe at the sky. Three moons hung in the sky, each one a different color. The first moon was huge, two times larger than his world's moon and a striking blue color. This one seemed to give off a gentle glow of calm. The second moon was about the same size as his world's moon, if not a bit bigger. It was a gold color, glowing brighter than the first moon by far. The final, and last moon, was almost so small he couldn't see it. It was glowing red, harsher than the first moon. Still, the bloody light of the smallest moon could not compare to the golden glow of the middle moon.

The flaxen-haired teen smiled, calmed by the moons. He didn't even panic when two figures, riding what appeared to be horses, appeared on the horizon.

No…he didn't feel panicked at all. In panic's place was an immense sense of calm, as if someone had administered some kind of sedative straight into his veins. He wondered, briefly, if those two people would come here and kill him while this emotion persisted. The thought made a cold kind of terror begin to bubble up. Abruptly, his head began to pound with a vicious force. All thoughts left his mind as the pain continued to worsen.

It was like a migraine, only much worse. Under all the layers of pain, he could hear something whispering viciously.

It stopped as suddenly as it had begun. There was still that too-calm feeling, but he had almost forgotten what he had thought about mere seconds ago. Whenever he tried to grasp onto scraps of his previous thoughts, they seemed to blink for a moment—as if he had just remembered—and then fade back into oblivion. He couldn't even get frustrated, for some reason.

And the two figures grew closer, and closer, and every time terror surfaced pain would immediately assault him. At one point when his fear grew strong, the pain came back ten fold, causing him to drop to the sandy floor and hold his head. He trembled a bit—partly from the subsiding pain, partly from the fact that he could now clearly hear the two figures approaching.

One of the figures dismounted, judging by the sound of shifting and a grunt. A warm, tanned hand grabbed his chin and forced him to look at the figures.

A torch was held close to his face. Malik's eye's slid over to the torch, wondering if any embers would burn him. The figure that was holding his face let go suddenly, sucking in a breath.

"Ra, he looks just like you." One of them said, keeping _his _obviously male voice down. The man's voice was deep and cold and harsh. It reminded him of a quarry filled with sharp rocks.

"He does, doesn't he?" The man that had been holding him replied. If he had thought the other man's voice was bad, this one was worse. Malice seemed to lace the very words he spoke—the way he said them almost made them seem like an insult. _This _man's voice reminded him of death. Though the night was not cold, the teen on the ground shivered.

Almost frightened, he moved his eyes away from the torch that was still held close, and up to the two figures. He gasped.

Looming over him was almost an exact replica of himself. Where shoulder-length, flaxen hair should have been, in it's place stood a wild mess of platinum spikes. Harsh, blood red eyes replaced Malik's warm violet eyes. Compared to the stranger's eyes, that seemed to radiate an almost intense insanity, Malik seemed to be a saint. Instead of the blank expression the teen usually wore, features were twisted into a smile, no…smirk, of cruelty. From what he could see, the stranger was tall and lean, whereas he was thin and willowy.

He turned his head to look at the other stranger. This man was also tall and muscled, more so than the man leaning over him. He wore an opened red robe, a cream robe under that, and a navy blue skirt. The stranger's hair was white and also shoulder-length. But Malik's hair was more relaxed—the white haired stranger's seemed to gather in a chaotic mess around his head. He had same red eyes as the other stranger, radiating the same insanity but at a lower level. A fat vertical scar ran down the bottom of his left eye, with two short horizontal lines crisscrossing it. It looked like a double-dashed T.

And while the blonde stranger's face was a mask of spite, the white haired stranger's expression was more of curiosity than anything else. The same eyes, the same skin, almost the demeanor …Apart from looks, he seemed like a milder version of the blonde stranger. He also noticed that the blonde one was wearing the same robe. Purple in color, though, and the cut was higher up so that you could see the beginnings of a cream skirt peek out from under the hem of the closed robe.

Too busy taking in the strangers, the blonde teen came back to reality in enough time to catch the last bit of a conversation the two were having.

"Too much trouble—"

"Not if we keep him at—"

"By Ra, Bakura, do we really—"

"He's weak, he won't cause that much trouble."

Malik frowned, as the last comment was obviously addressed to him.

"So, it's settled." The blonde stranger said.

The white-haired stranger moved closer, and once again his chin was grabbed. He found himself looking directly into hypnotizing garnet eyes, unable to look away.

"Tell me your name," the stranger holding him demanded.

"Malik." He said, confidently. Something about these two seemed to scratch him in a strange, unknown way. He didn't like it.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the wilder one smirked, looking over to the white-haired man. Eyes connected in a silent agreement and both smirked.

"Where do you come from?" The platinum blonde man asked, no less demanding than the other stranger.

The words rolled easily off his tongue, once again coming off fearless and confident. "Egypt."

A confused glance was shared. Then the blonde stranger shrugged, and the white haired man spoke.

"You're coming with us."

**…**

Where had it all gone wrong?

Perhaps he should have stayed home, back in that hellhole where no future awaited him. Anything was better than this. Being led on, a rope wrapped jointly about his neck and wrists, like some kind of disobedient dog. Every time he fell behind, the blonde would give a sharp yank of the rope, cutting off his breathing.

He had tried to fight them.

**…**

"You're coming with us."

"Coming with you?" Malik said distastefully. He had forgotten the danger, his mind going back to thinking he was in his home world. Thinking he was safe, that these two people couldn't hurt him.

"Yes, with us." The blonde stranger snarled in reply. He grabbed the teen's wrist with a bruising force, hauling him to his feet.

Malik wrenched his wrist out of his grasp. He stepped backwards, into the other stranger, before turning around again so that he was facing both of them clearly.

The blonde teen stepped back. "I'm not going anywhere with a couple of strangers." And he turned to walk away.

That was his mistake.

He got a couple of feet before something tackled him, sending him crashing into the ground. He could feel the person above him bury their face intohis back. He felt, rather than heard, the person covering him chuckle before wrenching him in a standing position again.

"You're coming with us," The white-haired male stated. "Whether you like it or not."

"You can't—" Malik's hiss was cut short when the blonde-haired stranger's hand came down to hit him.

The force of the slap caused the teen's head to snap to the side painfully. He fell to the ground, stunned, and his body jolted when he felt the blonde man deliver a vicious kick to his ribs.

The white-haired man spoke, amused. "You could have just punched him, Marik."

The other stranger—Marik, replied, "What? And ruin his jaw…?"

From his position on the ground, the Egyptian boy shuddered. Something lurked beneath the depths of those words, something he did not know of. He held a hand to his cheek, which felt as if there would be nasty bruise from the slap.

"Bind his wrists and his neck. We'll lead him there like a dog," The white haired male leered.

He was hauled to his feet—again—and rope was placed about his neck and wrists. Malik was caught between despair and anger. Anger at the two captors having thought that they could treat him like this, despair at the thought that this life may be worse than his last.

Seconds drifted to minutes, and minutes into hours.

Noon had been unbearably hot. At the beginning of the evening, it seemed to get even hotter—if possible—like the dying flame of a candle. _'A candle burns brightest before it goes out._' Malik reminded himself.

They had ridden (or, for him, walked) for what seemed to be forever. The smaller blonde hadn't even noticed night change to early morning or the morning change to noon. Only when he felt the heat begin to reach a highpoint did he finally take notice of his surroundings. Throughout the ride he had been forced to suffer in silence; neither of his captives had spoken since they had bound him.

His mouth hung open as he rasped for air. His throat was so dry…he couldn't remember the last time he took a sip of water. His feet ached terribly and his eyes drooped with exhaustion. Finally, unable to take anymore of the heat or the exhaustion or the pain he collapsed.

He lay there, face buried in the sand, not moving even when the "collar" around his neck tightened with the yanking of the "leash". As the "collar" tightened even more he began to choke.

This caught the taller blonde's attention; the horse in front of him stopped and backed up a little. Malik coughed again as his lungs frantically brought in air.

The blonde stranger gave a sharp yank, causing the "collar" to restrict around the neck of his captive once more. Malik nearly gagged when the crueler of the two strangers yanked on the "leash" again.

"Get up!" He yelled, giving a succession of sharp yanks.

Finally, the milder of his two captors stepped in, taking pity on the boy in the sand.

. "Marik, it's obvious he's far too exhausted to move another step."

The blonde frowned, but allowed the white-haired man to take the "leash" away and unbind Malik. Even the teen was too exhausted to use this as a chance to escape. The blond-haired Egyptian was gathered into the arms of his white-haired captor.

The weak boy was placed in the front of the saddle, so that he could rest against the chest of his captor as they rode on.

"Water…?" Malik asked weakly.

The white-haired stranger consented, bringing a strange leathery pouch to his lips. The weaker blonde drank gratefully from what seemed to be a water skin.

They set off once more. At one point, the exhausted teen looked backward towards Marik. The darker of the two wore a sneer on his face, one that seemed to shout how disgusted he was with his weakness.

Malik turned back to the wide expanse of desert and let his head fall back against his captor's chest.

The blonde captor was not the only one disgusted with his weakness; Malik was disgusted with himself. But even the pure self-loathing he harbored could not stop him from closing his eyes to get some well-needed rest.

Maybe he would be back in the attic when he awoke.

**+A/N+**

Chapter written to:

Final Fantasy Crystal Chronicles – Yae – Starry Moonlit Night,

Final Fantasy X – Scorching Desert

I was very hesitant in posting this; I am thinking that this is the absolute WORST piece-of-crap-for-a-chapter ever. But don't pity me. I hate pity O

Anyone who noticed I reworded the title (Descant still means "melody") wins. The Internet. For a day. And when it comes to it, I changed Marik and Bakura's eye color because I am powerful like that. Also, there will be more dialogue as soon as Bakura and Marik warm up to Malik. Finally, This is not a "back to ancient Egypt!" fic. Nope, it's in a completely different world D:

By the way, I originally send by email, but I think my computer has a virus, and I don't really want to spread "the love". Xx;

**SnowIce **– You give me too much credit, I dare not give myself such a title as an "authoress"/melodrama Sorry if it was too long of a wait…Em-tan(proofreader/beta reader) got her Internet connection shut off. I'm ecstatic that you actually took time out of your day to review my bad story…

**Misoka **- :o Thank you so much! I can't believe I caught your attention. Thankyou for the spelling correction! (the mistake will be fixed by the time this is uploaded). Throws bouquet I shall never trust Em-tan again /

**AmethystRoze – **Thank you so much for reviewing. :D It makes me so happy that one of the authoresses I read stories from ACTUALLY WROTE to this insignificant little person. ;; Thank you for reminding me—I completely forgot about anonymous reviews. Such kind words for such a lousy writer! ;;

**Seductive Extinction** - ;; Another one of my favorite authors reviewed sniff You are the greatest. Hugs and cookies. :D You make me feel like I have skill.


	3. escuchar

I LIVE! (See A/N at bottom for further details.)

The song, "Here Alone" is a very good song. :3 Buy the CD or COUGHDOWNLOADITCOUGH.

Disclaimer: I had a dream where Malik was Godzilla once. He ate France. D:

**+Desert Descant+**

" Who should I trust now?

All I have is me,

It's not easy livin' in this dead world,

But I chose to be here,

Here I am alone."

+ **Here Alone**, Ben Arashiro

The house came into view suddenly, abruptly, without warning.

They had been riding for quite some time now. He had awoken just before dawn, cushioned on his white-haired captor's chest. His bottom ached terribly, unaccustomed to horseback riding. His mouth was parched, and the motions of the horse were beginning to make him sick, but he was hard pressed to care as he watched the house emerge out of the torrid desert.

As they got closer, he could begin to see structure to the building; the house itself was two stories high and slightly thin. The second story had only two windows, both very close to their respective sides. The first floor had a single feature—the door. There was a relatively good sized, tiled courtyard in the front of the house--it consisted of, simply, a tiled chunk of land, and a water fountain in the center of the courtyard. Three walls of corbelled arches that were built straight into the house enclosed the courtyard, making it look like an open-air room. The arches were high and thin, and the pillars were square and thick. The courtyard walls fell just short of the second story's respective windows—one could easily step out of the window and walk across the pathway that the tops of the three walls formed. The pathway on top of the courtyard walls was wide enough for a man to comfortably walk across, without the fear of falling.

From afar, the house looked out of place in the vast desert. However, when they finally came to a stop in the courtyard he _really _got to drink in the beauty of the house.

It was totally run down.

The tiles of the courtyard were cracked and scuffed and smashed. Some of them were actually missing; leaving gaping squares of sand that tile should have covered. The magnificent water fountain, shaped like the bottom shell of a clam, held nothing but murky green water. There was a figurine of a woman in the middle of the fountain, but the top half of her had been broken off. The arches looked frail because of all the cracking and chipping, and the pillars looked ready to cave. Worst of all, the house looked like it had gone through many a battle, with stains of red on some of the wall, and minor damage inflicted all over the place.

Marik jumped off of his horse and dropped a bag Malik didn't even notice he was holding. He stretched his arms out and sighed, "Home!"

Malik turned around, only to see that the white-haired captor had dismounted. He obviously noticed his prisoner's distress, as he helped the blonde captive dismount.

"Thank you," The flaxen-haired teen murmured. When he noticed that his less-insane captor wasn't letting go, he blushed. "You can…let go…"

"Huh?…Oh!" And he dropped the hand as if burned.

He watched his captor walk pass and wondered if the white-haired man was blushing because of the heat.

The door opened with a crack and Malik found himself facing the inside of a beautiful house. While the outside was worn and torn, the inside was clean and plainly beautiful. The floor was typically made of wooden floorboards, and the walls were painted an off white. Ahead of him there was an old, polished staircase. To his right there were two rooms—one with an arched, open doorway and the other with a thick door that was shut and bolted.

Bakura turned to Marik, who had busied himself with dropping his bag on the floor next to the staircase. "I'll give our new pet a tour of the house, and you can put away the new score meanwhile, okay?"

Malik was just about to open his mouth and say something, before he quickly shut it at the glare of Marik. He did _not _like being called anybody's "pet". It was…degrading. Inwardly, he sighed, because he couldn't do anything about it.

"Are you sure I can't give him a tour, Bakura?" The blonde captive almost flinched when he felt Marik's eyes on him, roving up and down his body, making him feel naked—like he couldn't wait to get him all alone and then….

"No, I think it'd be best if you put the score away." Bakura said with a thin-lipped smile. It was kind of scary, actually.

Marik glared at Bakura, but didn't say anything. Malik could sense anger rolling off him in waves as he exited the house again, probably to go to the horses.

Bakura grabbed his hand and he was dragged into the opened room. "This," Bakura made a sweeping gesture with his hand, "is the kitchen." And he was abruptly pulled out of the kitchen. Next he was shown the bolted door—the white haired man made no move to open it. "This is the cellar, which is kept locked at all times."

Just as Marik was entering the house again, Bakura was pulling him upstairs. The grip on his wrist was so hard it hurt—he was sure there were going to be red marks.

The second floor was more crowded. After they came around the stairs he saw a small room, then a large room with two doors to his left. Bakura took him to the larger room, leading him into the door farthest to his left.

"This is my room," Bakura spread out his arms. "You're to come in here only if I or Marik tell you to." The grip on his wrist tightened for a fraction of a second, and Malik could feel his bones slightly grind against each other. He nodded frantically.

A dim light that came from some undistinguishable point in the room lighted Bakura's room; the walls were lined with shelves that held nothing, and a small cot was shoved into a corner. It was a medium sized room, not too big. What really caught Malik's eye was the fact that there was no wall to his right—only a large velvet curtain.

Bakura parted the curtain from the wall and drew Malik into the next room.

Malik gasped. This room was huge. The walls were painted blood red—unlike all the other walls of the house. The bed in the middle of the room was enormous—a mosquito net hung over the bed, and silk sheets lay tidily on the bed. The shelves on the walls were overflowing with golden objects, be it jewelry or figurines of animals and humans. Some of the shelves were short and high up on the walls—all of these shelves held a single unlit candle.

"And this is our room," Bakura said proudly, obviously pleased with Malik's awed expression. "You are to enter this room with permission only. If you come into our room without permission, we will be forced to punish you…_severely_."

The flaxen haired teen shivered. Was it just him, or could he hear a note of anticipation in his voice?

Malik was led out of the room through the door they entered in. This time, Bakura dragged him over to a small room that seemed to almost hunch over itself in the corner. It reminded Malik of someone cowering, curling into a ball. He shifted uneasily.

The door that had been closed was thrown open, and his white-haired captor gracefully threw him in. Stepping in after him, the captor closed the door and locked it. Malik was trapped.

"I think I'll lay down the ground rules. I already explained the first rule—don't go into our room without permission," The white haired man shot a deadly glare and continued. "The second rule will be…"

He paused to think, and then suddenly picked up on his train of thought. "Chores will be done quickly and efficiently."

Malik gaped and Bakura smirked. He was going to have to do…Chores? He'd had enough of that at his past home, and he wasn't about to start with that again. He opened his mouth, as if to object, but closed it when Bakura sent him another deadly glare. Both of his captors reminded him of his terrible father.

"The third rule," his captor continued, "you will not speak…unless spoken to. Fourth rule; When Mariku or I want you to do something, you will do it immediately. For the last rule…you will address us as 'master'."

By the time he was done reciting the rules, Bakura was smirking wildly. Malik hung his head dejectedly, submitting, afraid of any pain that would send him into a nightmare of past memories.

"So, for your first command," A pale hand grabbed Malik's arm in a tight grip. "Kiss me."

Malik's head shot up. "Wha…what!"

Bakura leaned in, and Malik could feel the hot breath on his face. "You heard me. Now."

The flaxen haired teen looked away, noticing the lust in his eyes. The grip on his arm tightened and he cried out, turning back to Bakura. He leaned in, closing the distance, and kissed him. It was hardly a kiss, more of a brush of lips before he pulled back and tried to wriggle out of his grasp.

However, he wasn't that fortunate. Bakura pulled the unfortunate teen flush against him, demonstrating no self-restraint as he caught Malik's lips with his own and began to kiss him.

Malik's eyes flew open and he tried to get away. All the wriggling did was seem to excite Bakura more—it wasn't long before his captor's tongue was trying to pry apart his lips.

Bakura bit the teen's lower lip viciously when he found that he couldn't gain entrance. The Egyptian boy gasped, and that was all the white haired male needed to thrust his tongue in the Egyptian's mouth. Malik whimpered, but Bakura, who was far from terrified, groaned and pulled Malik even harder against his body.

There was a loud crack behind them, almost like someone shooting off a gun. The door shook again as there was another crack, and Malik realized that someone was hitting the door very hard. Finally Bakura noticed the noise and tore his lips off Malik's.

"God dammit!" The pale skinned man roared, unlocking the door and throwing it open. In the doorway stood and equally pissed Marik, who was staring straight at Malik.

'This won't turn out to be good,' Malik thought as the angry, taller blonde neared him. His fears were confirmed when Marik grabbed his face roughly, the blunt nails digging into the underside of his chin, and began to study his face. Throughout all the studying, the lesser blonde was forced to look into dark purple eyes swirling with rage.

"Breaking in our new slave, are you?" Marik hissed, releasing the teen and turning away from him. He had obviously noticed the swollen lips, and the bloodied lower lip.

Bakura opened his mouth but was cut off by his furious companion. "We've got a meeting with a dealer tonight, and I've been calling you down for about five minutes! I come up here to find you locking lips with our new little _whore!_"

The word struck Malik hard. Whore? He was going to be a whore for these two? He suddenly felt sick.

Marik whipped around and shoved his slave, who stumbled backwards. His knees met the edge of a cot shoved in the corner, and he fell on the cot. The taller blonde then grabbed Bakura's pale wrist and dragged him out the door.

The door closed, and the fallen teen could hear an intelligible shout—it sounded like Bakura.

Malik's eyes shifted to the window above his bed, the white transparent curtains fluttering in the wind. He looked up, noticing for the first time that the small room was lined with shelves from floor to ceiling. The shelves were sloppily painted white, all shelves bare and nailed to the sides on an angle.

Shutting his eyes and turning to the side, he left his legs rest on the floor as he tried to relax.

He was alone again.

**+AN+**

I'm so sorry this took so long to get out! But I finally did it. I was lying on the couch in a patch of sunlight, and I was like, huh…reminds me of my story. And something clicked, so I got out my notes and started writing.

Also, I may be getting a job soon...and I also may be joining SWAT! Not **THAT **swat…**S**outh** W**est** A**quatic** T**eamIt's the offseason for me, so I don't want to get outta shape.

Ok! Review responses!

**Miosaka**, Thank you! I personally thought the intro to Bakura and Malik was way overdone, but then again, people tell me I'm paranoid…oO…. Malik's migranes are….well, you'll have to find out later in the story. It's relevant. Extremely, in fact. :D

**Seductive Extinction**, You're too kind I've never heard my works described like that. If you don't watch out, you'll give me an inflated ego :D I actually obsess over the fluency. It's quite sad…Em-tan would probably say so too. I'm not annoying by posting poem verses at the beginning of each chapter, am I? just wondering…

**AmethystRoze**, ok…YOU'RE going to give me an inflated ego. The plot will thicken…maybe too much. I think sometimes I overdo the drama (I enjoy reading drama, but I can't stand real-life drama aka girl 1 did that and girl 2 did this and girl 5 made out with boy 1…ugh!) because I enjoy writing/reading it. :D Thank you for giving me a confidence boost…and reviewing!

**Kesshi**, Thankyou!

**Chibi B-channie**, One of my favorite authoresses! I didn't expect anyone like you to review…then again, I didn't expect anyone to review at all. Of course Malik will be happy soon…:D wink wink nudge nudge etc etc I'm sorry I took so long to update! Also, Malik thanks you for the pity. He will need it in the far-off future D (Whoops, I just let that slip)…

**Kasbaka, **Ooooh! I actually have a good plot? D: I always think I am so predictable…that cheered me up. I succeed! And the Spanish verbs…well, I am also taking Spanish (you HAVE to take Spanish? oo!) and I'm going to do all the city names and maybe some parts of the language in Spanish. I'm not sure about the language part yet, though.

**SnowIce**, Ah! Thank you! I am at odds with myself some times—I degrade myself often, but I don't want people to think that I just want all the pity from them. I really have to gain some self confidence…And I told my beta-reader, she says thanks! I feel sorry for malik, but will feel more sorry later. :D Once again I must apologize for a long-overdue chapter.

**Minako, **ok, I will! Thank you for your words of encouragement!

**tsuki-neko-chan**, I think you should give it a shot! You never really know, you might turn out to be a great writer. Besides, how will you ever start improving if you don't start writing? Thank you, also, for your kind words of encouragement!

**Star-Goddess Z**, Marik IS evil. XD I'm glad you like him that way…Am I really being that mean to Malik? Bakura WILL make it better…in time :D

**SHAMELESS PLUGAGE!** Em-tan writes **PHANTOM OF THE OPERA** fanfics! Go and read them, I command it! (plus, I also write on her account too XD)! Her username is Deadly Serenade!

Review:D If you have the time…


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